


His Girl Friday

by HeartlessMemo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers Tower, Bonding over laundry, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Girl Friday, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Snark, idiot in love, kisses that aren't kisses, recovery!bucky, wrangling superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: "...Your eyes linger on the way Bucky’s plain white t-shirt clings to the muscles of his chest and shoulders. Your gaze travels downward and you appreciate how his loose-fitting sweats hint at...what lies beneath.'Umm…!' you announce, tearing your eyes away before this can get any more raunchy. 'So...you want me to show you how the dryer works?'And that’s how you start meeting up with Bucky every Friday to do laundry together. It’s also how you start putting way too much thought into your laundry day outfits."***The Reader works as a "Girl Friday" in Avengers Tower. When she manages to tease a laugh out of one very melancholy super soldier, she finds herself in danger of falling for the gloomiest Avenger.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 186





	His Girl Friday

**Author's Note:**

> First of all thank you so much for reading! Kudos and Comments are always appreciated and loved.  
> I wrote this story in response to a prompt for a fic in which the reader and Bucky share an undeniable attraction but Bucky worries that he'll hurt her due to his violent past. It kind of ran away from me...  
> The title for this story comes from the classic, fast-talking comedy "His Girl Friday" (1940) starring Rosalind Russell and Carey Grant.

“So...what’s your job here, again?”

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gloomy comes out of nowhere scaring you half to death and causing you to drop the dish you’ve been rinsing with a clatter. You peak over your shoulder with wide eyes and startle a second time when you realize he’s standing _right_ behind you. He’s wearing that closed-off expression that absolutely conceals whatever it is he’s thinking. You turn around fully, trying to ignore the way his height looms over you and the unnatural alertness in his eyes--as if he’s taking your measure and mentally calculating how best to incapacitate you.

“I--uh? Sorry, what was the question?”

_Smooth._

“What’s your job here?” he says without any inflection. Like a robot. Your eyes flick down to the metallic hand at his side for just a second. But he notices and you see him round his shoulders as if he’s trying to appear smaller and less threatening. You appreciate the effort even if it’s not very effective. He’s a big lad. 

_Big handsome lad_ , your brain helpfully supplies.

“Oh...well, hmm. I do...sort of everything. I started out as Pepper’s P.A., then Tony stole me away from her. Then I got co opted by the Avenger’s initiative and now I’m a kind of Girl Friday for superheroes.”

Something flickers for a split second behind his eyes before his expression shutters closed again.

“A Girl Friday?”

You quirk your head to the side and poke a jaunty finger into his chest-- _oh, hello, muscles_ \--and say, “Yeah...but apologies in advance, I’m not as fast-talking or easy on the eyes as Rosalind Russell.”

And suddenly he’s transformed. He lets out a loud bark of laughter and his lips part in a million watt grin that has your heart fluttering like a caged butterfly. You smile in return, wondering how you ever found Bucky Barnes scary or intimidating. 

\---

The next day gives you cause to remember.

You’re racing down the hallway towards the _correct_ conference room, after spending fifteen minutes sitting in the _wrong_ room and wondering how you’d managed to arrive so early.

Now you’re late, flustered, and carrying a stack of classified intelligence briefs because lord forbid they be disseminated digitally. You bust through the door, huffing and puffing and desperately hanging on to the jostled folders when your forward momentum is suddenly arrested by a wall of muscle and metal that plows into you like a freight train. Bucky...James Barnes...The Winter Soldier--whoever he is in this moment--closes the metal fingers of his prosthetic hand around your throat and slams you backwards into the wall. 

The room erupts in chaos but your world is narrowed down to just you and him. You’re standing on tiptoe, pointlessly clawing at his hand and staring into the flat, dead eyes of an assassin. But in seconds it’s over. His eyes clear and he drops his hand from your throat like you’ve burned him. You manage to stay upright, leaning heavily against the wall and massaging your neck as you gasp for air.

Bucky stares at you with horror in his gaze and he chokes out, “I--I thought you...I didn’t mean--I’m sorry.”

_Oh, hey, no big deal. What’s a morning strangling between friends?_

So, there’s that.

\---

Later on you bump into Captain Rogers on your way to the elevators for a coffee run. There’s always ridiculously expensive gourmet coffee stocked in the common kitchen area, but there’s a stall downstairs in the lobby that makes the kind of mocha, pseudo-coffee confection that you love. 

“Hey, Steve! You want something from Java the Hut?” It’s actually called the Java Hut-- _but come on_.

Steve slides to a stop when he sees you, his shoes squeaking on the floor. Rather than answer your question he puts a hand on your shoulder and gives you his patented Steve Rogers earnest smolder-- _how did you get this job, again?_

“How are you feeling? Look, I know what happened earlier was unacceptable and I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses, but Bucky is still healing and--”

“I get it!” you interrupt, trying to smolder back at him for a second before giving it up as a lost cause. “Well--no, I don’t get it. I could never truly understand what he’s going through, but the point is I don’t hold it against him. It’s fine, really.”

Steve looks adorably relieved and you suppose he has a reason to worry. Bucky’s placement with the Avengers is very much probationary. If you’d decided to--what?--complain to HR, it could have meant big trouble for Mopey McGee.

“Thank you for understanding,” Steve says. He starts walking with you toward the elevators and you get the feeling he kind of wants to unload.

You take pity on him, “So, I take it it’s not going so well?”

Steve rushes in, “It’s...going much better than it could be, honestly. It’s just even when he’s not disassociating and having flashbacks, it’s like he’s shut down, closed off from the world. He’s been here two months already and I haven’t seen him smile once. The Bucky I remember loved to laugh...”

“Oh! Well...I made him laugh the other day,” you chirp as you punch the down arrow next to the elevators, oblivious to the cataclysmic shock registering on the superhero’s face.

“You...he laughed?! At what?”

Steve joins you on the elevator as you fill him in. By the time you finish your anecdote his lips are quirked in a lopsided grin and he’s shaking his head in wonder. He buys your “coffee” and thanks you from the bottom of his heart as if you’ve saved his friend’s life...and--well--in his mind maybe you have.

\---

Bucky may or may not be avoiding you since the whole strangling incident. It’s unclear since he wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality beforehand. The only reason you even notice it is because Steve most certainly is _not_ avoiding you and he keeps trying to herd you and Bucky into close proximity. You guess he considers you some kind of Winter Soldier Whisperer now and is trying to recreate whatever chemistry led to his friend’s hard shell momentarily cracking. Needless to say it doesn’t work and Bucky evades all attempts at forced socialization.

You’re not alone with him again until late one very pitiful Friday night when you walk into the laundry room holding a basket overflowing with unmentionables. As soon as you spot the Soldier standing in front of one of the top-of-the-line washing machines you hurry to dig out an over-sized sweatshirt and use it to cover up your bras and granny panties. Bucky doesn’t even seem to notice your entrance, he’s staring so intently at the digital display on the side of the machine.

You plunk your basket down in front of another machine, purposely making a lot of noise so you don’t startle him. He looks up from his solemn contemplation with an expression of pained confusion.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you say. 

_Stupid._

You load your clothes into the washer and throw in a Tide pod, starting the cycle with a twist of a knob. All the while Bucky watches you like a hawk.

“Hey…,” he says, sounding unsure of himself. Honestly--it’s refreshing. You live and work with some _mighty_ egos most of the time. _I mean, have you met Thor?_ “Do...Girl Fridays do laundry? I’m asking for a friend…”

You laugh heartily before answering with a friendly pat on his--broad, musclebound--shoulder, “Ohhh, no you don’t! I’ve fought this battle before with both Tony and Natasha. I don’t do laundry. Or windows. In fact, if it sounds like something a maid might do then count me out.”

He nods forlornly and turns back to the machine, idly turning the knob and watching you from the corner of his eye as if you’ll give him a clue once he’s got it right.

You roll your eyes, “I will, however, teach you to do laundry, Bucky.”

“My hero,” he sighs with a mock swoon and you crack another grin. Man, you wish Steve could see this. You don’t know if it’s the late hour, the solitude, or his desperation to finish this chore...but he seems lighter, as if he’s set down his burdens for a moment.

You run him through the basics and watch as he follows your steps. There’s a table in the center of the room for folding, you hop up and let your bare legs dangle over the side. Bucky turns to you when he’s finished and you’re suddenly hyper-aware that you came down here wearing nothing but your sleep clothes. His eyes automatically sweep downward, taking in the sight of your legs in PJ shorts. He swallows and makes a determined effort to raise his eyes only to get hung up on the tight camisole stretching over your breasts. You feel your cheeks burning and you awkwardly tug at the hem of the shirt.

_Well, if we’re ogling…_

You take the opportunity to let your own eyes linger on the way Bucky’s plain white t-shirt clings to the muscles of his chest and shoulders. Your gaze travels downward and you appreciate how his loose-fitting sweats hint at... _what lies beneath._

“Umm…!” you announce, tearing your eyes away before this can get any more raunchy. “So...you want me to show you how the dryer works?”

And that’s how you start meeting up with Bucky every Friday to do laundry together. It’s also how you start putting way too much thought into your laundry day outfits. 

Some nights are like the first night and you chat and joke while folding laundry. Other nights are different. You can tell from the atmosphere as soon as you step into the room if it’s a good night or a bad one. When Bucky’s having a bad night he goes non-verbal, the blank look comes back into his eyes and his body tenses up as if he’s expecting violence. The first time it happens you’re frightened, recalling his reaction to you in the conference room weeks earlier. But you come to realize that in these moments he’s just... _gone_. And scared. He shadows you around the tiny laundry room, watching your movements and waiting. For what? It’s almost as if he’s expecting orders. 

“Hey,” you say, gently putting a hand to his shoulder to stop him on his way out the door one night. It’s been a bad one and he doesn’t answer you, just looks over his shoulder and waits. “Let’s watch a movie.”

He trails you down the hallway toward the common area, dropping his laundry basket next to yours and sitting down when you point him toward the couch. A sudden qualm comes over you as you watch him numbly doing your bidding. _Is this wrong...is this taking advantage?_ You just don’t want him to go back to his room all alone when he’s like this. You worry. _And the fact that he’s a six foot beefcake you’ve been dreaming about for the last month has nothing to do with it??_

It’s not fair. After all this time working with the Avengers you thought you were immune to hunks! Now you’re falling for the moodiest one?

To be on the safe side, you leave one whole cushion between you when you sit down. You flip through the options in Tony’s limitless library of digital movies, finally settling on a modern classic that Bucky just _needs_ to acquaint himself with if this will ever work out between you.

This, you know… _this._ The “this” that definitely exists and isn’t all in your head...

You sneak a peek at his profile as John Williams’s iconic score starts to play. He’s sitting absolutely rigid, his face expressionless. You sigh under your breath and turn back to the screen, watching the yellow text fly by on the backdrop of deep space. 

As the familiar story plays out you sink a bit deeper into the plush couch cushions, curling your feet beneath you and losing yourself in the movie. Han and Luke have just rescued Leia when you look over and find that he’s...Bucky again. He’s slouching casually with his long legs sprawled before him and his eyes glued to the screen. He looks over and you smile, reaching out one stockinged foot to give his thigh a little nudge of welcome. He wraps his fingers around your ankle and squeezes in return before turning back to the TV. His hand stays on your ankle and you spend the rest of the movie silently thrilling at the feel of his bare skin on yours.

“Why didn’t they give a medal to the big hairy guy!?”

“Chewie! I know, it’s an outrage!”

You laugh and it quickly turns into a jaw-cracking yawn. Bucky watches you, sliding his fingers over your ankle, his rough fingertips dragging over the soft skin. His eyes are intense and his lips part with a smile that’s a shadow of the seductive grin he surely used on countless beautiful, classy 1940s dames. You’re caught in a single second of tantalizing possibility before his eyes flick away and his face closes off once more.

“It’s late. I should get to bed…” 

He stands up, stretching his arms over his head. You watch with bated breath as the bottom of his t-shirt hikes up, exposing his toned stomach and the trail of dark hair that leads below the waistband of his sweatpants. You’re staring and it’s horrible and rude but you can’t stop. After a second he clears his throat and you finally look up to find him arching an eyebrow at you.

“I was just admiring your--uh...shirt. It’s a nice shirt, Bucky,” you explain before turning to bury your face in the cushions with a mortified shriek. 

“ _Uh huh_ ,” you hear him say as he moves off toward the hallway and the elevators leading up to his rooms. “Whatever you say, Girl Friday. _Not_ very professional, though.”

Part of you wants to clobber him for teasing you and the other part wants to cheer him on for coming out of his shell. You settle for hiding in the couch cushions until you hear the elevator ding.

\---

“Wait a minute. Hold it. Stop right there. What’s going on?”

You take a breath and count to ten--a strategy you employ whenever you’re forced to interact with Tony before 10 AM. 

“Yes, Tony?” you plaster a fake smile onto your face. It’s 8:30 and Hill alerted you to this meeting at 7:50. Since a key part of your job is Avenger wrangling, you’ve spent your entire morning fetching various grumbling superheroes from their morning routines. The day has barely begun and you’ve already dodged a roundhouse kick from Natasha Romanoff, seen Bruce Banner’s naked butt ( _hey_ ), and forced Steve to reschedule a visit with Peggy. You’re so not ready for Tony’s needling.

“How come he gets one and not me?” 

The billionaire is pointing with a truly magnificent pout to the paper coffee cup you’ve just placed in Bucky’s hand. Bucky smirks and takes an ostentatious sip, licking his lips and winking up at you.

“Okay, who was going to tell me the goth and my secretary are sleeping together?!” Tony demands with false outrage. 

Bucky stiffens beside you and your face heats with anger and embarrassment. To make matters worse, Steve is now eyeing the two of you with a look like Mrs. Bennett discovering that Netherfield Park is let at last. Hill brings the meeting to order before you can come up with a response--probably for the best since anything your brain can supply would be filtered through several layers of mortification, angst and sarcasm.

You take the empty seat between Bucky and Steve and try to school your features into professional indifference while ignoring Tony’s obvious attempts to catch your attention. When he resorts to flicking wads of paper at you, Hill finally has enough.

“Something you want to share with the whole class, Tony?” she asks--man, she’s really got that cold, aloof voice thing down. She should teach a master class. 

“Nope! No, ma’am, please continue,” Tony says, folding his hands before him with an innocently bland smile.

Bucky catches your eye with a barely suppressed smirk and the two of you share one of those perfect moments of silent hilarity that threatens to bubble over into actual laughter. You can practically feel Steve’s eyes burning a hole through the back of your head as he watches the two of you. Poor Bucky...you know Steve means well, but it’s got to be...a lot...being constantly pressured just to _be well_.

As the meeting progresses you finally settle into professional mode, typing up the minutes on your secure tablet. The team’s gearing up for a mission tonight. The meeting is nearing its end when Hill makes an unexpected motion that sends your heart clawing up your throat.

“Sergeant Barnes has been medically cleared for duty. If he has no objections we’ll move to a vote on whether he’ll join the team this evening,” her voice is matter of fact, like she hasn’t just suggested your fragile, non-boyfriend go out on a dangerous mission.

Bucky nods his assent and you watch in frozen panic as the team votes to approve his deployment. Your fingers freeze over the keys as if rebelling against recording the decision. The meeting adjourns with a chorus of squeaking chairs and chatter.

You turn to Bucky without thinking, placing your hand on his metal arm as you speak, “But...you can’t--!”

He rips his arm away with more force than necessary and you can see the muscle in his jaw tick as he clenches his teeth. _What did you do?_

He turns and mutters something to Steve before abruptly getting up and leaving the room.

“Trouble? So soon?” Tony asks, leaning over the table and snagging Bucky’s abandoned coffee cup. He scowls as he takes a sip, “Gross! Dear, next time make it a triple espresso.”

“Not your secretary, Tony,” you say with a sigh, turning back to your tablet and finishing up your notes. You can feel Steve frowning at you but you refuse to meet his gaze.

\---

_This is so stupid._

You’re sitting up in bed with Netflix playing in the background as you clutch your phone waiting for the vibration that will notify you when the Quinjet lands. It’s almost 4 o’clock in the morning and you’re so tired you feel sick. Yes, you love your super-friends--but you’ve never stayed up waiting for them to get back from a mission. This is all Bucky’s fault.

If he weren’t so handsome and funny and vulnerable. If he’d just stop lighting up the room with his smile and casually letting his knuckles brush yours as you both reach for the fabric softener...then you wouldn’t be in this predicament!

And he has the nerve to flinch away from you today after making such a flirty show for Tony!? What was that about anyway? You didn’t even get the chance to see him again before they all left.

You’re just on the cusp of dozing off when the phone’s vibration jerks you into alertness. You squint, bleary-eyed, at the screen as you read the message. They’re back. Safe. No injuries. Good. Now you can finally sleep.

Or...maybe just run up to the landing pad and do a quick check to make sure they don’t need anything. It’s only professional, after all. _Right._

Wind whips through your hair as you step out onto the open-air landing strip in nothing but your purple bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. If you weren’t so delirious with exhaustion you might care more about your appearance. Right now you’re counting heads and checking limbs. The team stumbles off the jet looking tired and.. _.slimey?_...but unharmed. Natasha reaches you first.

“Uh...hey? Everything alright?” she asks, clearly confused to see you here.

“Oh! Yeah, everything’s good! I just wanted to make sure everyone was...okay…,” your voice trails off as Bucky walks up with Steve and Rhodey. Natasha shakes her head with a knowing roll of her eyes and moves off. It’s not until he turns to fully face you that you notice the blood staining half of your friend’s face.

“Bucky!?” you screech, rushing forward and grabbing him by the collar so you can drag his face down to your level and examine his injury. “I thought--the message said no injuries! What happened?”

He clears his throat, staring at you wide-eyed and uncertain as he mumbles, “Not my blood.”

Your fingers loosen on his collar but he doesn’t move away despite being bent over to match your short stature. You watch as he darts out his tongue to moisten his cracked lips and now you can’t tear your eyes away from his mouth. You can feel your body swaying forward, drawing closer to him like a star falling into a black hole. _Oh, no. Stop that._

“That’s...not your blood...good, that’s good,” you whisper and then you’re collapsing forward and pressing your mouth to his. This isn’t a kiss. You’re just checking that his lips are alright. He tastes like blood and grease and his stubble burns your chin but after a second his lips move against yours and he flicks out his tongue to deepen the non-kiss and you’re now clinging to his collar for balance as your knees go weak. 

When you finally pull apart it’s just the two of you left on the landing strip. You keep your fingers fisted into the material of his shirt as if preventing him from running away. Which is just what you intend. He reaches up his hands to cup your cheeks and you nuzzle into his palms, reveling in the contrast of warm skin and cool metal. 

You feel it in your bones when he changes. 

One moment he’s soft and warm and _here_ and the next he’s gone. You’re once again looking up into eyes gone flat with fear and some other emotion that looks a lot like regret. He flinches away from you and you feel it like a punch to the gut. His eyes squeeze shut and he grimaces like he’s in pain, finally choking out a single word before he flees, leaving you alone in the cold night air.

“...Sorry.”

\---

_It’s fine._

Things were getting a little angsty there for a while and it really isn’t your style. You are the quirky, fun office assistant girl...not the girl who spends her nights haunting the laundry room and moping around the TV area. In fact, that kind of behavior sounds a lot more like what you’d expect from Mr. Frowny Face. So what if you haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for two weeks since your ill-fated not-a-kiss? So what if Steve keeps giving you the pitying look of a dad unsure how to respond to his teen daughter’s first break up? It’s all...fine.

Completely.

“Office slaves, unite!” Darcy Lewis cheers as she clinks her mug with yours and downs the remainder of her drink--straight whiskey, the girl can handle her liquor.

You sip your third mug of red wine and perch your feet up on the coffee table. You’re hanging out in what you lovingly refer to as the “lackey common area.” It’s several floors down from the Avengers’ (and yours--perks!) living space and a lot less luxurious. But there’s also a far lower chance of running into your gloomy ex-laundry partner down here.

“Hmm...unite! We should unite, Darcy--should we unionize? Because I think it’s a workplace hazard to constantly be surrounded by rippling muscles. Bad for mental health…” 

“Don’t talk to me about hazards, lil lady,” Darcy slurs, stabbing her finger at you to emphasize her point. “Did you forget I work for Bruce...frickin’ Banner? I’m probably going to end up green like him any day now…”

“Did I tell you I saw him naked?” you ask, your mouth rounding into a smile anticipating her reaction.

“WHAT!? No! Tell me everythinnnng!” she whines, clutching your elbow and pouting her lips. 

This is good. You’ve needed to blow off some steam for a while now. Good, honest, drunken fun. And you’ve hardly thought at all about how it’s the first Friday night you haven’t spent lurking in the laundry room hoping that Bucky will forget he’s avoiding you. Hardly at all.

The corridors are dark by the time you’re stumbling your way back to your rooms and you don’t notice Bucky’s presence until you’ve smacked straight into his-- _broad, toned, oh shut up_ \--chest. He doesn’t say a word but you more than make up for that.

“Oh! Sorry to interrupt your...lurking. I’ll just be…,” you start to walk past him but then think better of it. You turn to face him, straightening your spine to stand at your full, negligent height. “Actually, I just wanted to tell you that it wasn’t a kiss. So, you can stop avoiding me because it was...an accident. I slipped and my mouth fell on yours! So...that’s what happened. And I hardly ever think about it. And you don’t smell good! So just...get over yourself!”

You turn on your heel, stomping to your door and leaving behind a very bemused Bucky.

\---

It’s Steve who finally cracks.

“He thinks he’ll hurt you.”

He’s leaning in the doorway of the cubbyhole you call your office. You look up from your laptop with a blank expression, your mind still full of Tony’s latest PR schedule.

“Huh?” 

“Bucky,” Steve says, slipping inside the tiny office and shutting the door behind him. “He likes you, but he thinks he’ll hurt you. That’s why he’s staying away.”

“But that’s...so dumb,” you answer.

“I know!” he says with a smile but his face quickly darkens. “Everything Hydra did to him, not just physically but mentally...he thinks it makes him too dangerous for someone like you.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion, “ _Someone like me_?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck and smiles in chagrin, “You know...non-supercharged.”

“That’s--” you flounder, “What do I do?”

Steve’s chest puffs up and he lets out a massive sigh, “You’ll have to convince him otherwise.”

\---

When you finally track him down you’re a little embarrassed you didn’t think to check here first. Granted, you’re not exactly a gym rat so the Avengers training floor isn’t really on your radar. You step inside and take in your surroundings. The state-of-the-art gym equipment is kind of wasted on you. You’re far more captivated by the image of Bucky Barnes in a white tank top and gym shorts pummeling a punching bag. His shoulder muscles tense and bunch with every hit and you’re even intrigued by the way the metal plates of his prosthetic arm ripple with his movements. When he hears the door click shut behind you he grabs the bag in a bear hug to stop its swinging. He turns to face you, his shoulders heaving with his ragged breath and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. _Hoo boy._

He looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes and you decide to cut to the chase.

“Steve told me why you’ve been staying away...that you think you’ll hurt me…”

Bucky throws his head back with an aggravated sigh and starts unraveling the tape around his right hand. 

“Oh, yeah?” he grumbles, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” you try to instill confidence in your voice. _Be like Hill_ , you silently chant. “So, I just came by to tell you that you don’t have to worry. Because you can’t hurt me. I’m actually super tough.”

That gets you a laugh and his smile transforms his whole face.

“You’re tough?” he asks, skepticism dripping from his lips, but he’s still smiling and you step closer, taking over the job of unwrapping his knuckles. 

“Yeah,” you insist, cradling his large hand in yours and delicately pulling away the strips of tape. “I just hide it because I know how fragile superhero egos are and I don’t want to hurt any of your feelings. I could actually take you all in a fight. Including Thor.”

He snorts at that but his voice is a soft warning as he says your name. You put your hand over his mouth to stop him from saying whatever devastating rejection is surely forming on his tongue.

“No!” you order, slowly letting your fingers drag over his lips as you pull your hand back. “I’m going to kiss you again. And you’re going to let me.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring down at you wide-eyed before he finally smirks, “I thought you slipped and fell into my mouth?”

“Oh, shut up, Mopey!”

This time you meet him on his level, climbing up his tall frame and forcing him to cup your bottom with his strong arms as you cling to his shoulders and ravish his beautiful mouth. His lips are soft and full and this time he tastes like sweat and Gatorade. He growls into your lips, squeezing his fingers into the rounds of your buttocks as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth.

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he moans, his hands dancing under the hem of your blouse.

His fingers reach the clasp of your bra, expertly releasing it before tearing it off along with your top. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and you can feel the hard length of him pressing up against your ass through the thin fabric of his shorts. You squirm against him, desperate for more.

“I just know what I want, Bucky,” you answer him, catching his crystal blue gaze as you fish your hand between your bodies to take hold of him. His eyes flutter closed and his lips fall open in a wanton moan. He practically collapses down to the gym mat with you on top of him. You lean back to straddle his hips and tug his shirt up over his head.

_Well...hot damn._

You had an idea of what to expect. The time you saw Steve shirtless drinking milk out of the carton is still rated as one of your top religious experiences. But Bucky’s body is something else. Chiseled and sculpted, yes, but also clearly bearing the marks and scars of a battle-hardened soldier. You trail your fingertips along the silver starbursts of bullet wounds and the angry scar tissue where the metal arm meets his flesh.

“Does it--?”

“No,” he whispers and you flick your eyes up to meet his. He’s watching you with a serious expression, “it doesn’t hurt.”

You nod your head, letting your hands and your eyes trail over his naked chest and shoulders. For the first time the gravity of what was done to him sinks in and it takes your breath away. This sweet man…

You trail a hand down the length of his prosthetic arm, taking his hand in yours and bringing it up to your lips. You lock your eyes with his as you lay a kiss to the cold metallic knuckles.

“This won’t hurt me, Bucky,” your voice comes out hushed, reverent. “And neither will you.... _please_.”

_Please_...the word comes strangled from the bottom of your soul. You’ve never fallen like this for anyone. It’s not just physical. It’s his laugh and his smile and the way you want to tuck him into your pocket and keep him safe from the entire world. You want this man more than you’ve ever wanted anyone and you’re begging him to give himself to you.

He takes his hand from your grip and reaches up to cup your cheek. His eyes gleam with intensity as he takes in the contrast of your delicate skin against the cold, unforgiving Soviet metal.

“Okay,” he chokes out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

The words unlock him. In an instant he’s pulling you down to his chest and fiddling with the button of your jeans, frantically pushing them down your legs as you kick off your shoes to assist the effort. He flips you onto your back beside him, stroking his rough palm over your body, his callouses scraping deliciously over the sensitive buds of your nipples, skimming over the slope of your stomach and finally coming down to cup your hot sex in his palm. His touch sends a shivering spike of heat straight through you and you cry his name in response. 

“What do you need, doll?” his hushed voice whispers against your fevered skin as he lays soft kisses over your breasts, flicking his tongue out against each nipple in turn. “Tell me.”

You grind down on his hand as you slip your fingers under the waist of his shorts. 

“I need you, Bucky,” you demand, shoving the shorts down his legs and grasping his proudly straining erection in your small, warm hands. “Now!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughs, shimmying the rest of the way out of his shorts and rolling your panties gently down your legs. He positions himself between your thighs, gazing into your eyes as he drags his fingers through your moist folds. He smiles at how wet you are and your heart does a somersault. It’s like you’re right back in the kitchen all those weeks ago getting a taste of your first ever Bucky Barnes million watt smile. 

Despite the impromptu setting and the desperate frenzy that led up to it, Bucky takes his time making gentle love to you. He cradles your body to his as you adjust to the size of him. When he pushes his first powerful, hard stroke inside of you his face comes apart a little and he dips forward to drag his teeth over the tender, sweat slicked skin of her neck. He whispers into your ear as he begins rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, little praises and endearments that you’re incapable of answering as the language section of your brain seems to have short-circuited. 

He grasps your hips, angling your pelvis upward and shifting so his thrusts hit you even deeper. The broken cry that falls from your lips has him grinning smugly and picking up his pace.

“You like that, baby?” he pants, his movements turning more frantic as he nears his climax.

You nod your head in answer, incapable of anything more than the breathy moans falling from your mouth. You can feel your own orgasm pulsing closer and you wrap your arms around his shoulders as the waves crash over you, wanting to feel him on every part of you. A moment later his muscles tense and you feel the quivering pulse of his release inside of you. He falls forward, his body trembling as he clings to you, threading his fingers through your hair and peppering your lips with kisses. 

“So…,” he says with a mischievous grin, “does this mean you’re _my_ Girl Friday?”

You roll your eyes, “Ha ha...does that mean you think you’re Carey Grant?”

“I mean…” he laughs, arching his eyebrow in smug self-assurance. 

\---

Later that night you curl up on the couch of the common room together.

It’s late. The Tower is sleepy and subdued and it feels like you’re the only two souls in the whole world still awake. You sigh and laugh as you watch Carey Grant and Rosalind Russell fast-talk their way off the screen as the ending credit music starts to play.

“He’s such a cad, making her carry the suitcase!” you laugh, stretching out your limbs before tucking back into the shelter of Bucky’s side. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in his scent and enjoying the feeling of perfect well-being that washes over you when he tucks his arm around you.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “But they belong together!”

You lean up to kiss him, running your tongue along his plump lower lip and tasting...just pure Bucky.

“They do, don’t they?”


End file.
